


Taking care

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mention of blood, nongraphic knee scrape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Just a shared moment





	Taking care

She tripped. Her head full of music and lyrics on leaving the theatre, she tripped on a bit of something or nothing; her knee scraped across the cold cement. Joan picked herself up, eyes self-consciously darting around at passersby. Mercifully, New Yorkers can assess damage in mid-gait, and only stop if they deem your injury more than you can handle or if you’re in their way. Luckily, the tourists in this evening's pedestrian traffic followed the lead of their more experienced city brethren, gawked a little but kept walking. 

Joan stepped out of the post-theatre flow to examine her knee. Her slacks were ripped and she was left with that particular red abrasion, the one she'd not seen in decades, the one that came with carefree running and skating on city sidewalks. At first she cursed, the privilege of being an adult, berating herself for clumsiness. And then she smiled, wide with remembrance of the freedom of childhood. You fall, you pick yourself up and keep running and don't tell mom or she'll put the red stuff on, the stuff that hurts more that the owie. Again she smiled. This wasn't too bad. She'd suffered a lot worse these past few years.

Joan stepped to the curb and threw her hand in the air; she deserved a taxi ride home.

 

"I'm back." She announced as she unbuttoned her jacket. 

From behind her, Sherlock sort of welcomed her home. "You're early. What happened?"

Joan hung up her jacket and turned. "The jerk stood me up. No text, no call, no email. I will not be seeing Roberto again. I didn't really care for him after our first date anyway but I was trying not to be judgmental. The musical, though, that was spectacular ..." She went on talking but he wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on her leg. 

"What happened to your knee?"

"I fell outside the theatre." She saw the twitch of his mouth and stopped him before he set off on one of his shoe height diatribes. "It was an accident. Not a big deal. I wasn't paying attention. Although, it is beginning to hurt a little." Joan peered down and gingerly moved the soiled material from around her knee. 

Sherlock bent to take a closer look. "Sit." He commanded as he popped up and walked past her. "I'll get the first aid kit."

"It's not that bad, Sherlock, really ..."

"Sit!" He reiterated. "It won't take a minute," his voice trailed off as he descended into the kitchen. 

 

Joan did as asked. She sat. There was no point arguing with him. The injury needed cleaning, though she could certainly do it herself. She picked a small piece of gravel from the sticky mess at her knee. The blood was turning a dark black red. A bruise would surely follow. 

He returned as quick as promised with the kit, pulled up the ottoman and sat before her. "May I cut away the material or would you rather remove the trousers?" He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and produced a small pair of scissors from their kit. 

Joan looked down and sighed, they were brand new. "Cut," she said resignedly. "There's no way to save these now anyway." She maliciously considered sending Roberto the bill for a new suit. 

Sherlock set to work. Once the material was removed and the area accessible, he inspected the abrasion, gingerly pulling away a thread that adhered to the caked blood. He reached for the distilled water and gauze. Holding the back of her knee with one hand, he meticulously dabbed and swiped with the other, casting aside the soiled gauze, reaching for more gauze, more water, repeating the process.

Joan watched him work - intent, careful to a fault and with a pained look on his face that spoke to the empathy he felt. For all his sarcasm and sniping, which admittedly she served right back at him, he cared for her so well ... 

He reached for the iodine. "This may sting. Or would you prefer hydrogen peroxide or antibiotic cream?" He raised his eyes to her when she didn't immediately answer. Joan had no time to hide, and he caught sight of the softness, the tenderness for him she carried, stowed away deep inside her. 

Sherlock's mouth opened slightly, his eyes growing wider, thirstily drinking in the hesitancy on her face, the tremor at her lips as she tried to pull back the emotion that her eyes poured out to him. Neither spoke. The moment lasted an eternity and was over far too soon. 

"I, I uh ... the uhm ointment, just a little .... on the bandage." She looked away from him to the first aid kit and then her knee. His hand still held on to the back of her knee. 

"Uh, yes.... I think that would suffice." He whispered and stared forward for a second, then awkwardly stole one more glance up at her face. 

Through the glove she felt the warmth of his fingertips caress her ever so lightly as he pulled his hand away. 

Sherlock kept his attention on the bandage and ointment. "What would you like to do about this Roberto fellow?" His voice returned to crisp officiousness. "Shall I pay him a visit ... explain dating etiquette to him, hmm?" The bandage was placed on her knee, the adhesive properly smoothed out, perhaps more so than it required. He looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye. "I could bring along my cricket bat ..."

"Sherlock!" Joan gave his name the stern intonation she knew he expected before beaming a wide and happy smile at him. "He is so not worth it." She examined the bandage. "Thank you for ..."and words left her. 

Another soft look was exchanged. Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away lest things get out of hand. "You should go change." He stripped the gloves from his hands. "I'll clean up here. Meet me in the kitchen. I have some notes I'd like your opinion on."

She moved to stand and winced. His hand rushed to her elbow in offer of support. 

"Thanks. The muscles are beginning to stiffen ..." He was too close. "I best go change while I still can ..." 

He forced his hand to release her, took a step back but watched to make sure she made it up the stairs.

She called out to him as she climbed, "Don't worry. It's just a scrape ... I'm fine."

"Yes ..." He whispered under his breath and headed downstairs.


End file.
